


The Gold Card

by IrLaimsaAraLath



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe - Stripper/Exotic Dancer, Dry Humping, F/M, NSFW, Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Shower Sex, Violent Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-22
Updated: 2017-08-22
Packaged: 2018-12-18 00:27:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,606
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11862825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IrLaimsaAraLath/pseuds/IrLaimsaAraLath
Summary: This all began with @elfsplaining offering this prompt:modern AU stripper Lavellan giving Solas a lapdance and he’s So Aroused but obviously there’s a no touchy club policy so they just end up grinding on each other until they both climaxThere will be multiple chapters of this.  I'll update tags as I go and put notes at the beginning of each chapter for warnings on content.





	1. Introduction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is just the basics of the AU world briefly laid out to establish a base to work from.

Modern Thedas is a world where magic has all but died out.  There are a few families that still retain the gift in their bloodlines, which more or less makes them the rockstars of the world:  both revered and feared.  They control everything from commerce to media to government.  

 

The “death” of magic was accomplished by selective breeding in ancient Thedas, a time when the Chantry ruled in all things and instilled in men a fear of magic.  Because of its inherent usefulness, the Chantry designated several “noble” families where the gifts ran strongest and allowed them to retain their magic, while it was actively bred out of the rest of the populace.  

 

This eventually rendered all humans and elves (except those select families) mundane, magically speaking.  The only races not subject to this breeding program were the dwarves, as they have no magical abilities, and the Qunari, who have their own ways of controlling their mages, which the Chantry felt were sufficient.

 

The resulting world is one where the ruling families are more like factions, each with its own niche carved out in the world.  One of the most prominent, House Pavus, deals almost exclusively in the realm of technologies, with the only son being a technomancer of the highest order.  Another house in the upper echelons is House Cousland, which deals primarily in government and defense.  The daughter of this house is a well-respected pyromancer.  

 

Though this societal structure generally holds, there are occasionally children born inherently with magic, even from non-magical parents.  These children are usually sought out, almost in a militaristic fashion, and inserted into the house to which they are best suited.  Some are hidden away by their parents, taught to hide and conceal their gifts.  Some succeed in living normal lives, some do not.  A lack of skill and proper guidance can lead to (literally) explosive results.

 

And then, there are the Immortals, elves ancient beyond memory.  There are very few left in the world, and they mostly keep to themselves.  While they are exceptionally powerful, some have fallen prey to the houses in their bitter struggles to gain dominance over the others.  Having such a mage in their pocket alone would be a great boon, but if one could extract that power or learn to duplicate it?  It would be so much more.

 

Most of the remaining Immortals are content to simply exist, but there are a couple that deign to meddle in mortal affairs.  One such is Solas.  In ancient Thedas, he was known as Fen’Harel, the Dread Wolf, but now simply goes by Solas Fen.  He has, in the past, made efforts to restore magic to the world -- he believes it is inherent in all creatures to some degree or another, but has simply been made dormant.  His last known attempt occurred in 1953 at the World’s Fair in St. Louis, MO, where he detonated an ambient mana bomb that was designed to saturate the fairgoers in vaporized lyrium, but do no physical damage.

 

Such a concentrated infusion, magnified by his own powers, he reasoned, would jumpstart those dormant abilities and reignite magic within the world.  However, unbeknownst to him, a few of his fellow Immortals were aware of his intentions, and they were significantly less eager to have magic bestowed upon the unwashed and unworthy masses.  They sabotaged the plan by setting “powder kegs” of their own throughout the grounds, and when Solas set off his device, the whole fair literally erupted in chaos and flames.  Naturally, he was blamed for the destruction and massive loss of lives, and thus, he became a pariah.

 

The stigma still exists in 2017, though there is now an underground faction invested in his cause and the restoration of mankind.  Part of that movement is Niyera Lavellan, an elven exotic dancer, who is quite a bit more than she seems and utterly bent on redeeming the Dread Wolf.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Solas and stripper Lavellan making the most of her club's no touchy private dance policy.
> 
> Tags for dry humping.

His slender frame slid into the leather seat of the horseshoe booth as it had on countless nights before.  He exhaled a deep, relaxed breath as he unbuttoned the cuffs of his sleeves to roll them up.  Several nights a week, he found himself here.  Always the same booth, always the same time.  Always the nights  _ she _ worked.  Sure, there were other women here, but they were a faceless throng in lace and leather that never held his attention for longer than it took them to pass out of sight.  He was only here for  _ her _ .

 

He felt as much as heard the uptempo throb of the music, a rhythm followed by the flash of colored lights.  As a server was depositing a tumbler of bourbon on his table, he was pushing his rolled sleeves tight on his forearms.  They knew his usual; he thanked the woman and slid her a crisp bill before she departed silently.  Reclining into the cushioned back of the booth, he cocked an elbow over the back of the seat and took his glass in hand.  His gaze lingered on the stage, following the current performer with his eyes more out of idleness than interest.  He was simply passing the time before her set.

 

As the minutes grew long and his glass was emptied, filled, and emptied again, he flicked a glance to his watch.   _ She’s late _ , he thought, noting that her set should have started twenty minutes ago.  A cursory glance through the smoke-laden air of the club found many women, but not her.  Did she take the night off?  Was there something else wrong?  With a heavy sigh, he returned his glass to the table and started to slide out of the booth.  A tap on his shoulder from behind stopped him.  When he glanced up, a pair of slender fingers tipped with violet nails were offering out a matte gold card.

 

His brow furrowed as he tilted his eyes to the redhead, protesting, “I didn’t order that.  You must have the wrong table.”  He dismissed the offer with a shake of his head and exited the booth.  She moved to block him as he started to walk away and tapped the card against his chest.  “Look, sugar, you may not have ordered it, but someone did.  You might as well take it.  It’s not like we offer refunds, you know?”  The dark curl of her lips was as sassy as her tone as she propped a hand on her lace-clad hip.

 

The line of his mouth tightened in consternation as he reluctantly plucked the card from her hand.  Her smile widened.  “Good.  Now, what’s your drink, sugar?  Bourbon?”  He nodded, almost absently, as he gazed down at the card in his hand.  He knew what it was because he’d purposefully never sought one.  A private dance.  As an afterthought, he called out to the server as she walked away, “Neat...please.”  Thoughtfully, he scrubbed his thumb against the sharp line of his jaw as he allowed his gaze to wander over the crowd around him.  Was there someone here that knew him?  The club was so far from his place, from work, he found that possibility unlikely.  Who then?

 

He clucked his tongue as he sucked in a deep breath between his teeth and let it go again.  Another glance around the club still didn’t find  _ her _ .  He gave his head a subtle shake.   _ Might as well do this thing _ , he decided as he began to make his way through the maze of tables and booths.  In his mind, he was still stuck on trying to figure out who’d sent this “gift” his way, and everyone around him melted away.  The other men that purposefully ignored him.  The women that  _ accidentally _ caressed him with their bodies as he passed.  He only paused as he reached the gold-placarded door at the rear of the club.  There, he flashed the gold card, and the bouncer ushered him through.  

 

He found himself in a plush sort of sitting room, set with a circular bar at its center and ringed with doors around the perimeter.  An over-muscled attendant met him, and he relinquished his card, which was imprinted only with the number 4.  The other man gave Solas a once over before motioning him over to a door labeled with the corresponding number.  “Don’t forget.  She can touch you, but you do  _ not _ touch her,” the attendant warned, the edge in his voice hard and steely.  A jerk of his chin and a nod communicated Solas’s understanding as he passed through the door and closed it quietly behind him.

 

The room was small, intimate with a brown leather chair at the center and a brass-framed glass pedestal table beside it.  A cut crystal decanter sat on the table along with a tumbler of bourbon, neat, just as he’d asked.  His brow quirked as he tapped a few fingers along the back of the chair and moved to sit.  The only sound was the softly creaking sigh of the leather as he settled, and while the chair was oversized, his height still found the curve of the back at his shoulder blades.  His eyes slowly took in his surroundings, all tinged with light as amber as the liquor in the glass he took and raised to his lips.

 

He really shouldn’t have accepted this.  Whoever sent it wasted their money -- he came here for one thing and one thing only.   _ Her _ .  And even then, only at a distance.  Only she provided any temptation for this indulgence, and that’s precisely why he’d never dared make the investment.  His life, his work -- it was too complicated, and she would be a distraction.  But, more than that, he was loath to put her in the middle of the chaos that was his day-to-day.  She didn’t know him.  She didn’t deserve that.  She deserved so much more than he could offer.  So, he contented himself by being as close to her as he could be, even if that was only from across a crowded club.

 

Taking another slip of the bourbon, he rolled the liquid around on his tongue as he pressed a pair of fingers into his brow and massaged stiffly.  The wandering of his thoughts had caused the muscles between his shoulders to bunch, and the alcohol was a slow, enjoyable burn when he swallowed.  His attention was pulled back to the fore when the lights dimmed and a single pool of golden light fell from high over his shoulder to the curtains and floor before him.  From the speakers hidden somewhere at the rear of the room, a trickle of sound found its way to his ears.  A slow electronic thrill thrummed once, twice, three times before a deep male voice spoke.  “Do you control the dream?”  He felt the words vibrate in the center of his chest.  “Or does the dream control you?”  The words echoed away, chased by a pulse of bass that sent a tremor through him.  At the same instant, the curtains drew open with a whispered whoosh.

 

It was  _ her _ .   _ Lavellan _ .  Even with her back turned to him, he  _ knew _ .  He stared in a mild stupor of disbelief from beneath his hand as realization gradually took hold of him.  He sat his glass aside and struggled to swallow the last sip of his bourbon.  He was oblivious to its burn, pleasant or otherwise.  When his hand fell away from his face, his fingers curled, pressing the knuckle of his index finger into the bow of his upper lip as his chin rested against his thumb.  “Oh --,” he murmured against his hand, his eyes following the languid stretch of her arms as they twined over her head.  “-- fuck me --,” he continued, the words hardly a breath as his head canted to the side to better observe the first swirl of her hips.  “-- sideways,” he finished finally as his arms fell to drape limply over those of the chair, fingers drumming ever so lightly.  This was a  _ bad _ idea.  And yet, he didn’t move.

 

He could only shake his head slightly as he took her in from head to toe.  Her white hair fell in loose waves over her shoulders, failing to hide the outward curves of her breasts, and brushed past to dangle feathery tips at the small of her back.  An emerald string bikini clung tenuously to her hips as they rolled, first one way, then the other.  Spirals of glittering green body paint inched along her thighs, spinning out into sinuous tendrils that trailed beneath the latticed laces binding her calves, ties that held her knee-high gladiator heels in place.   _ You should  _ not _ stay _ , he heard the voice in the back of his head, and the muscles in his legs tensed as instinct fought desire.  The counterclockwise rotation of her hips gradually changed to an undulation forward and back in time with the music as she began to sink.

 

Her hands skimmed the outline of her body, gliding easily rest on her knees as she crouched.  It was only now that she turned her head, just so, a coy glance over her shoulder as her legs splayed.  Her achingly slow ascent was one roll of her hips after another as she drew her hands in long strokes against her thighs and turned in increments to face him.  A silver chain encircled her waist, dangling an emerald bead just above her navel, and a matching half-moon chainmaille collar hung from her neck, draping loosely over the swell of her breasts.  

 

He drew in a deep breath as he forced himself to meet her eyes, and he found her gazing back, a shadowed stare from beneath the curtain of her hair.  There were viridian embers smoldering in her eyes that he hadn’t expected to find.  It made the line of his mouth grow taut, chin falling slightly as he tilted his head.  She’d held him in rapt attention already, but now he was utterly entranced, and any consideration that this was a mistake evaporated.  Just like that.  A single arm extended toward him, like the graceful unfurling of a petal, her fingers waggling as if seeking his touch.  Before he could even entertain the thought of moving, a sweeping roll of her head sent her hair back over her shoulders and she lifted her chin.  Both eyes fluttered closed as she withdrew her hand to drag her fingers from the tip of her chin and down the long line of her neck.  

 

A heaviness had settled itself squarely in his chest, and he wasn’t sure if it was the bass of the music or his heartbeat that threatened to shake him apart from the inside.  His breaths came quicker, deeper as his eyes followed the journey of her hand as it grazed her breasts, danced along her stomach, and then lingered with just the tips of her fingers brushing the triangle of emerald fabric strung from her hips.  Like ever-constant waves against the shore, her body writhed against her hand, and each lift of her hips drew her fingers lower.  She opened her eyes to him as she moved, seemingly carried by the tempo of the music.

 

That same tempo bore her downward an inch at a time.  Her eyes never fled from his as she slithered her way to her knees, and the sight of her there stirred a tightness in him that reached further than his chest.  With all the haste of a cat leisurely stretching after a nap in the sun, she crawled to him on hand and knee, forcing a dipping hollow to form at the small of her back and the lean muscles of her legs to stretch alluringly.  When she reached him, she braced her hands on his knees, began to rise, and surveyed him with an intensity that was almost unnerving.  Involuntarily, he held his breath.

 

It only took the lightest pressure on his knees for her to spread his legs wider to accommodate her body.  When at last she broke eye contact, it was to press her cheek against his inner thigh.  Her eyes drifted closed as she nuzzled the black fabric of his pant leg, like a feline scenting her property, as if she’d already claimed him.  Without recalling having moved his hands, he gripped the chair arms so hard it made his fingers ache.  What was she trying to do to him?  He was hard before she ever touched him, but now he burned to bury his fingers in her hair and hold her there as he quenched his need between her lips.  As if sensing the turn of his thoughts, her face turned to sweep the tip of her nose between his legs, opening her eyes to him again only as her bottom lip caught on the bulge beneath his slacks.  

 

The breath he’d been holding left him in a rumble as he pressed his shoulders into the back of the chair.  The smile that broke on her lips was slight, but it betrayed the prideful pleasure she was finding in this.  Inch by inch, she pulled herself upward, slipping one knee between his as she straddled his left thigh.  Her heat was scorching, even through his slacks, and the press of her knee against him caused him to shift unconsciously, seeking the friction.  Placing her hands flush on his chest, she swiveled her hips, riding his thigh as a weighty breath fell from her lips.  Unless he was badly mistaken -- which was possible as dizzy as he was with the effort to keep his hands on the chair arms -- she was enjoying this as much as he.  

 

As her hands smoothed down the length of his torso, her fingers worked over each button she passed.  When she reached his belt, she leaned in, her face hovering only inches from his.  She smelled of peaches and brandy, and he found the urge to taste her too painful for words.  Tugging his shirt free of his pants, she pushed it back from his shoulders, leaving him bare but for the sleeveless black undershirt beneath.  Satisfied, she returned her palms to his chest, supporting herself as she rose, sliding her leg over his to settle fully into his lap.  She towered above him, chest at his eye level as she began to move.  Her hands swept into her hair, pulling it away from her face as her hips roiled like the push and pull of the ocean against him.  His eyes traced the long line of her neck, the gentle slope of her jawline, and settled on the curve of her lips.  Moist and full.  

 

A vision flashed through his mind unbidden:  her, in his bed, her hair fanned around her head as he bruised those lips with his kiss, smothering her cries as he buried himself inside her.  Unconsciously, his tongue moistened his lower lip, and he tore his fevered gaze from her mouth and up to meet hers.  Just as he met her eyes, her fingers released the clasp on her collar and it fell away, slipping off his knee and to the floor.  Pert and flushed, she was bare before him, and an incline of his head brought him closer to her.  He closed his eyes as he breathed her in, and his head swam as the scent of her filled his lungs.  The ache that gripped him became a throbbing.  Simultaneously, her weight settled fully on him, her hands gripping his shoulders as she forcefully rolled her hips into his.

 

The moan that fell past his lips was a hungry one, and he used the leverage his grip on the chair afforded to thrust against her.  A short hum of a purr thrummed in her throat as she pressed her knees into him, and her eyes darkened, growing unfocused.  Her fingers flexed on his shoulders, gripping and relaxing as her thumbs brushed along his collarbone.  In the blush streaking her cheeks and the quickened rise and fall of her chest, he found her wanton.  The next roll of her hips turned into a full body press, and he could feel the peaks of her breasts through the thin fabric of his shirt.  His head lolled back against the chair as he groaned, his hands now fists he dug into the chair arms.

 

Slowly, her head dipped, brushing her cheek to his as she nipped at his ear.  “I know who you are, Solas.  You think I haven't seen you?” she breathed hotly against the skin of his neck.  He heard her words, but couldn't make sense of them as her pace quickened.  The friction of her hips was impossible.  She drew back only far enough to pass the ghost of a kiss across his bottom lip before pressing her mouth to his other ear.  “Night after night,” she followed, lacing her fingers together at the nape of his neck as all the while, she rode him, her rhythm as unrelenting as the pulsing bass of the music.  “I know what you’ve done, and I don’t care.”  When she traced the outer conch of his ear with the tip of her tongue and moaned, he started to dissolve.

 

A muffled grunt echoed behind his lips as he wrapped his arms over the chair’s arms, grappling for leverage as he lifted his hips into hers.  She bore down, grinding as she bent to press her head into his shoulder.  Her hands fell away to the chair back, and the leather creaked as the pitch of her moans deepened.   The need to touch her sang in the sinew that ran through his arms, and when she tossed her head back, still gripping the chair behind him, he lifted a hand as if to touch her face.  She didn't flinch from the prospect, but stared him down as if issuing a challenge.  His breaths were heavy as he searched her face, and he slowly began to withdraw his hand.  Before he could escape, she grasped his wrist and guided a pair of fingers to her lips.  She placed kisses on his fingertips, traced them with her lips, then took them in her mouth.  The sensation send his imagination running wild.

 

His free hand clamped down so hard on the chair arm as her tongue encircled his fingers that the leather creaked in protest.  He had no more resolve to lose as he sank further down in the chair to get better leverage and pumped his hips against her as if will alone could banish the fabric between them.  She met his fervor with her own, one hand gripping a fist full of his shirt as the other clutched his wrist.  The pressure of her sucking increased, and he could feel the vibration of her moans throwing tremors through his arm.  It sent shockwaves through him, and his body reacted.  He was helpless but to buck against her as he came, and the ferocity of her grip told him he hadn’t peaked alone.  

 

The raging tempest of their rhythm slowed to a gentle pulse, and when her lips relinquished his fingers, she pressed a kiss to his palm.  He allowed her to guide his hand to the chair arm, where it rested numbly as he stared up at her with eyes unfocused.  The music had long since stopped, and he could hear only the sound of their breathing.  His pulse still thrummed through every fiber of his body, and when her fingers left the tangle of his shirt, she patted his chest, sparking a residual tremor that made him shiver from head to toe.  

 

Languidly, eyes half-lidded, she slid from his lap and retrieved her collar from the floor.  He watched her as the curtain of her hair hid her face momentarily, then braced his elbows on the chair arms to sit himself a little straighter.  Unabashed, she brushed her hair back over her shoulders and drew in a shuddering breath.  “Thank you,” she murmured contentedly as she nudged the decanter on the table aside and pulled something from beneath it.  He didn’t attempt to hide the confusion in his expression as she slipped something into his open hand and gently closed his fingers around it.

 

“A tip,” she offered, the hint of a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth, “for services rendered.”  His lips parted, the words  _ What _ and  _ Why _ perched on the tip of his tongue, though he couldn’t seem to get them out.  She met his furrowed brow with a wink, draped the chainmaille collar over her arm, and turned, sauntering back behind the curtain from whence she came.  He stared after her for several long moments before the reality of the situation fully dawned on him.   _ She _ had paid  _ him _ for a lap dance?  It was only then that he thought to look at what she’d left in his hand -- a crisp hundred and a handwritten note.  It read:   _ My last set is at 2 am.  You should be here when I’m done. _

 

“Shit,” he murmured from behind the smile that bent his lips and folded the note.

 

Life is full of difficult choices.  This should have been one of them, but it wasn’t.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Solas picks Niyera up at the end of her shift and takes her home. There's some angst, then there's some consenting rough sex.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tags for rough/violent sex. Mutual consent.

 

The intervening time between finding enough composure to leave the club and the 2 am deadline she’d set for him was just enough to make it back to his place, take a shower (a cold one), and execute the return drive.  He’d spent the entire journey, there and back, in total silence.  Every time he closed his eyes, even to blink, he saw her again on her hands and knees.  No mere shake of his head could banish that image from his mind, despite how many times he tried.

 

He arrived with several minutes to spare and so pulled in to park across the street from the club.  His gaze settled on the front door.  In the moment, he hadn’t been able to force himself to be concerned with the confessions she’d made as she sat astride him.   _ I know who you are, Solas. _  But, now, it was just one more thing he couldn’t seem to keep from his thoughts.  What did she  _ think _ she knew?  What did she  _ actually _ know?  For better or worse, there were so few individuals left that had any knowledge of him at all that he could scarce believe that her words had been more than a ruse.  To what end was a question to which he’d have to find the answer.

 

Idly, he drummed with his thumb and forefinger against the steering wheel, and there was a quiet hum as he lowered his window to get a breath of fresh air.  The night air was cool, but not quite cold, and it was like a refreshing drink when it filled his lungs.   _ I know what you’ve done, and I don’t care _ , the memory of her voice whispered in his ear.  If only that were true.  That all but solidified his certainty that whatever she knew, it wasn’t the whole story -- or even a fraction, for that matter.  She didn’t  _ really _ know what she was saying.  What he’d done… There was no reparation he could make for the damage he’d wrought.  No penance, no tithe that would ever be enough.  

 

The sight of her exiting the club drug him from his thoughts, and he observed her wordlessly.  Barely two steps past the threshold, and she caught sight of him.  There was no hesitation in her step, no lack of assurance.  The measure and gait of her walk told him that she had had no doubt that she would find him precisely where he was.  He hated the idea that she found him so predictable -- just a little bit.  Nevertheless, he rewarded her assuredness by stepping out of the car to meet her.  She had her snowy hair pulled back loosely in a clip from which several errant strands had escaped, and she was dressed in a long-sleeved cobalt blue sweater with a scooped neck, a simple black A-line skirt, and a pair of calf-high black boots.  He took a deep breath as she approached, and he leaned away from his car.

 

“Right on time,” she commented, the slightest hint of a chuckle in the words as she strode around the back of the car.  His head bounced to the side, half of a shake as he wandered around the front, meeting her just in time to open the passenger door for her.  “Surely you don’t intend to pretend that you are surprised,” was his response, accompanied by a vague smile.  She braced her hands on the top of the door frame as she raised her eyes to him.  “No, that’s not my intention,” she said as she lingered, staring up at him for a moment before drumming her hands against the door frame and slipping into the passenger seat.  When he moved to shut her door, he realized the muscles across his stomach had tightened, and he forced himself to relax as he returned to the driver’s side.

Once inside, he draped a wrist over the steering wheel as he cut a glance in her direction.  “Where to, Miss Lavellan?”  The stark white-blue glow of the console made her pale features luminous and silvered her viridian gaze.  “You know my first name, Solas.  Use it.”  She was, of course, correct.  He did know her first name, but he’d never referred to her by it.  It was too personal, too close to her.  Sufficiently chastised, he cleared his throat and corrected himself, “Niyera.  Where to?”  With a nod of her head, she answered, “My place.  You know the way?”  She cast a look at him, non-judgmental, but still with the intention to put him on the spot.  The  corners of his mouth tightened, and he nodded, but only once.  Her mouth curled into a smirk as she looked away from him and out the window.  Without another word, he pulled out into the street and began to drive.

 

Though aware he’d only scratched the surface, the accuracy of her knowledge thus far and her confidence in it was a tad unnerving.  Normally, he was able to pass in and out of lives without much notice at all.  He was  _ that _ careful.  Something was different in this instance.  Perhaps it was that he’d made a mistake in getting attached to her, to the idea of her.  In showing his interest in her.  Or, perhaps it was just the woman herself.  More remarkable than she seemed, even to him.  Without looking away from the window, she spoke, and her voice drew him out of his head, “You’re not going to ask?  I know you want to.  I  _ feel _ it rolling off of you.”  It was only then that she turned to look at him, and he met her gaze with the briefest glance.

 

“Why ask when I know you’ll eventually tell me on your own?”  His head canted in her direction, chased with a faint smile before he looked back to the road.  She huffed somewhat indignantly, but humored him as she gazed out the windshield.  “You’re not the only one with resources.  Mine may be a bit less conventional than yours, but they get the job done.”  He murmured a soft  _ mmmhm _ in response and glanced at her expectantly.  She met his gaze and hitched a shoulder in response.  “The Dread Wolf.  That’s what they call you, isn’t it?” the name rolled off her tongue with all the finesse that one might use when referring to the Boogeyman.  He feigned being unaffected, but that nickname always hit him a little below the belt and not in the most pleasant way.  

 

“Forever the loner.  Used as a threat to ward off lesser evils.  A name invoked when only the most dire of consequences need to be communicated.”  She paused, tilting her gaze to him.  He didn’t look at her as he spoke, but simply said, “I trust you’re going somewhere in particular with this.”  She made something of a noncommittal noise, looking out of the window again as she continued.  “They say that at the convention --” and she didn’t need to be more specific than that “-- you killed all those people intentionally.”  She paused.  “And in cold blood.”  His quiet response followed a shallow sigh, “This amorphous ‘they’ says a lot of things that aren’t always factually accurate.”  

 

As if conversationally discussing the weather and whether or not it had  _ actually _ rained today, she posited, “So, you’re denying it, then.”  He glanced at her, briefly wondering if she was genuinely expecting an answer or merely stating what she believed to be fact.  When she didn’t speak, apprehension gripped him, and he filled the silence with a reply.  “I do not deny that people died, only the notion that it was my intention or my desire for them to do so.”   “Mm,” she murmured, following quickly with, “I see.”  He took advantage of the moment to consider how surreal this conversation was and, in fact, how surreal the entire situation seemed.  When she didn’t speak further, he grew uneasy in spite of himself and asked, “Do you?”  When she looked at him again, the expression on her face and in her eyes made her seem older than her years.  “People die, Solas.  And those people in particular died in an instant.  So suddenly that they wouldn’t even have felt it,” she said as she turned to stare out the window with a distant gaze.

 

“They were with their families, their friends...they laughed, they discussed politics, they planned out dates and appointments for the following week, then,” she paused to snap her fingers.  “Just like that, they were gone.”  The candor with which she spoke, the familiarity, it was unsettling.  Almost as if she’d been there herself.   _ But that’s not possible _ , he assured himself.  She’d have been very young, and even as it was, there were so few survivors.  He had expected her to become less of an unknown with time, but her every word made her more of a mystery.  “I understand that the world has to change,” she said when she finally spoke again, “and I also understand that there are some who are confronted with the difficult decision of effecting change or sitting idly by while the status quo continues.”  

 

She looked back at him now, and her eyes were entirely unguarded as spoke, “Regardless of our best intentions, volatile change rarely has subtle or peaceful results, and frequently, those results are beyond our ability to predict.  I don’t believe you could have known.”  They sat in a measured silence as he continued to drive, and he spared her a fleeting glance as he turned a corner.  He wasn’t sure what to say, honestly.  No one had ever expressed the truth of the occurrence so accurately, let alone expressed any measure of understanding of the part he played in it.  “Thank you,” was all he said after the span of several minutes, and as the words left him, so did the fist of anxiety that had taken up residence in the center of his chest.

 

“I suppose you’d like to know how I came to this conclusion or perhaps who my sources are,” she commented, almost absently.   “Naturally.  But, I haven’t decided if I think you’d tell me the truth.”  Her derisive snort of laughter caused his brow to knit, and he frowned, “What?”  A hand momentarily covered her amusement before she patted his leg and let her touch linger on his thigh.  “It’s a little early in our relationship to suspect me of lying, isn’t it?  After all, I’ve offered you considerably more to work with than you’ve given me.”  It was his turn to laugh, a low chuckle from a seat deep in his chest.  “Oh, is that what this is?  A relationship?”  

 

Though a bit of a smile still tugged at her lips, her tone of voice had taken a turn to bite wryly.  “Given the choice, we’d have had this conversation long ago.  I have nothing to hide, and  _ I _ wasn’t the one who decided to keep everything at a distance, was I?” she said, tossing a glance at him.  “How many months has it been, Solas?  Five?  Six?  I’ve certainly had relationships that didn’t last so long, as well as lovers that weren’t nearly as attentive.  Though most didn’t have to be convinced to come within ten feet of me, either.”  

 

He sucked in his bottom lip against his teeth as his jaw jutted out, pulsing as the muscles flexed.   _ Ouch. _  A slow heat crept over his cheeks, and he refrained from looking in her direction.  Her words were blunt, pointed, and sank teeth into a wound that was already open.  But, he could admit, the question was a fair one.  From between tight lips, he gave the only answer he had:  “I thought it was best that way -- best for you.”  She made a mildly frustrated noise as she pushed at his leg before withdrawing her hand.  “Bullshit.  That might be part of it, but don’t insult my intelligence by suggesting that is all of it.”  There was a quiet hum as she rolled her window down halfway.  The cool air ran invisible fingers through the hair framing her face and brought the scent of her to him.   

 

He took a breath -- it was ripe with the fragrance of peaches from what must have been her shampoo -- and swallowed down on the sense of guilt that had risen as a lump in his throat.  They were near her building, and he slowed the car.  Moistening his lips, he opened his mouth to speak, but she cut him off, saying, “Pull into the garage.”  As directed, he turned in, stopping only when met by a card-keyed gate.  Without a word, she stretched across the armrest, bracing a hand on his door as she laid across his lap to swipe her card.  He pressed back into his seat reflexively, lifting his hands so as not to touch her.  She hovered above him and watched the round light on the box turn from red to green before she started to pull back, pausing only to glance first at his hands, then his eyes.  Though he was sure it was only a handful of seconds, it seemed like an impossibly long time that they gazed at each other.  Then it was broken as she, without a sound, drew back into her seat.  

 

When he pulled into a space and parked, he reluctantly glanced over at her, appraising the lines of her face.  She seemed to ignore him as she collected her things and exited the vehicle, and his heart plummeted to the pit of his stomach.  He should have said something sooner, something different, something better.  It had been so long since he really tried to  _ be _ with anyone, even just to talk, he’d nearly forgotten how.  Or, maybe he just should have known better.  He listened to the heavy fall of her boots on the cement as she crossed behind the car and then disappeared from the view of his side mirror.  His sigh was quiet, only her footfalls in his ears, when suddenly they stopped.  The lift of a single brow was a precursor to raising his head and peering into his side view mirror.  He couldn’t see her, but he heard her voice echoing through the underground garage.

 

“Are you coming?” she called back to him, and he only hesitated for a split second before he found himself leaving the car and following behind her.  He caught up to her at the elevator and lingered just behind her shoulder.  Unsure of what to do with his hands, he shoved them into his pockets and lifted his shoulders, trying to forcibly pull the tension from the muscles there.  With a soft *ding*, the elevator doors parted, and she stepped in, only then turning to face him.  Her lips were pursed, keys clutched in one hand, a small bag in the other.  He drew just inside the doors as they slid closed behind him, and his arms relaxed to a casual bend from his pockets.  

 

“You have nothing to say?” she asked as she drew nearer to him, and his chin dipped, eyes following her movements.  She was so close, the hem of her skirt brushed his legs, and she reached out -- and past him to press a button on the elevator’s panel.  Expectantly, she stared up at him as she drew away.  He held her gaze evenly, and when he spoke, his tone was as neutral as he could manage:  “What should I say?  What would you like to hear, Niyera?”  The *ding* of the elevator interrupted the ensuing silence, counting off each floor they passed.  “Should I apologize for  _ trying _ to look after your best interests?  If that is what you’re waiting for, you’ll have to wait a little longer.  I won’t apologize for it.”

 

One corner of her mouth twitched as the elevator lurched to a stop and the doors opened.  He stood aside, and she passed him by.  “That’s just it, Solas,” she began as she stalked along the hallway, only speaking again as she reached the door at the far end.  “It’s not your place to decide what’s in my  _ best interest _ ,” and a turn of her key in the lock opened the door.  She stepped through, throwing down her purse and keys on a table in the entry hall as she held the door for him.  

 

He approached, but stopped just short of the threshold.  His hands were still in his pockets as he straightened his back, pulling himself to his full height.  “You could have said...asked all of this at the club.  Or not at all,” he stated, pulling a hand free of his pocket to motion.  “We could have gone on indefinitely, never talking, never touc -,” his voice trailed off as he shot a glance past her, looking at nothing in particular, before returning his eyes to hers.  “You needn’t ever have...earlier...if you were so displeased with me,” his words were halting, and they carried a little more heat than he’d intended.  He wasn’t exactly angry, but he did not enjoy being toyed with, not like this.  

 

The words had no more left his lips than she grabbed two fistfuls of his shirt and hauled him forward, rising onto her toes to smother his mouth with hers.  He had to brace both hands on the door frame to keep from losing his balance, and his shock survived only a few seconds before it was buried and consumed by the want he’d held back for so long.  He wrapped an arm tightly, almost desperately, around her waist as he gripped the back of her neck, deepening an already impossibly fierce kiss.  When she threw her arms around his neck and hooked a leg around one of his, he lifted her just enough to drag their bodies through the door.  He kicked a foot backward, slamming the door shut, and turned his full attention back to her.

 

He kissed her the way he’d wanted to for months, the way he’d fantasized countless times -- as if he would crawl inside her, lose himself, and never emerge.  The tangle of them stumbled away from the door, his hip crashing into the table in the entry, her shoulder into the wall.  Hungry sounds passed between them as they staggered, his hand having found its way beneath her sweater to bruisingly grip her back and her hands grappling to hold his face as he carried them further into the apartment.  Every last nerve in his body sang, a shiver traveling down his spine and upward over his scalp as he snagged a hand beneath her thigh, pulling it higher to press against his hip.  

 

When they finally bumped into something solid, she grunted into his mouth, but never relinquished her hold.  She only tore her lips from his to suck in a ragged breath before she descended to his neck, searing his skin with her touch.  He could feel her pulling roughly at the sleeve of his shirt to bare more of his neck as she sought purchase for her teeth on his shoulder.  He’d entirely forgotten his need to breathe in their journey here, and he drew in hitching gulps of air as his head fell to the side, allowing her the access she craved.  

 

He peeled his eyes open, vision blurred and unfocused as he stared at the ceiling, and he struggled to retain even a shred of his composure.  One of the few coherent thoughts he had was a recognition that he was fighting a losing battle.  Nothing had changed:  this was  _ still _ a bad idea, she was  _ still _ safer kept at a distance, it would  _ still _ be best if he walked away.  She broke through the fleeting fog of his thoughts, and something between a feral growl and a cry of pain tore from his throat as she sank her teeth into his skin -- not hard enough to draw blood, but there would definitely be a mark.  In response, a shallow bend of his knees allowed him to hook an arm beneath her other leg and hoist her roughly until her thighs settled on his hips.  

 

As he pressed between her legs, his hands slid under her skirt, fingers slipping beneath her panties until her gripped her ass in both hands.  She lifted her face, a husky moan on her lips as she bucked against him and her head fell back, her eyes closed.  Bracing her hands on the edge of the counter -- as apparently the island in her kitchen is what stopped their blind stumbling -- she used the leverage to grind herself against him while digging her heels painfully into the back of hips.  The groan she pulled from his lips was accompanied by an effort to pull her closer still, but there was only one way he could possibly be any closer to her.  

 

He shifted her weight into one arm as his free hand wormed its way between their bodies, releasing the button of his pants with a twist of his fingers.  Before he could reach the zipper, she bucked again, and his grip faltered.  She slipped, her back dragging against the sharp edge of the counter before he caught her.  The pained scream that left her hit him like the sharp snap of a rubber band pulled too tight.  It didn’t last long, and she recovered by wrapping her arms around his neck, seemingly unphased.  He, however, had been pulled from the moment -- the pain in her voice reminded him of the  _ reason _ this was a bad idea.  He didn’t want to hurt her.

 

His hands slipped to the backs of her thighs as he lowered her and tried to pull back, managing only to whisper, “Wait, Ny-” before she pressed her lips to his.  His voice was a muffled  _ mmph _ against her mouth as he set her feet on the ground and pulled back again, stuttering out a “W-wait” as she clung to him.  It took him shouldering through her embrace and gripping her upper arms to forcibly hold her so he could get out, all in one mostly-firm breath, “Wait...Niyera.  Just...wait.”  Heavy breaths caused his chest to tighten as he gazed down at her, with her swollen lips slightly parted, hair mussed, and her sweater falling off of one shoulder.  Breathlessly, she stammered, “Wh-what is it?”

 

Without letting go of her he took a small step backward, holding her at arm’s length as he spoke.  “I --,” he started, drawing in another agonizing breath before he finished.  “I...can’t.”  That was all he said, and it didn’t seem like so few words should be so difficult, and he wasn’t certain at that very moment that he’d ever wanted to say anything less.  For months, he’d avoided getting close to her, avoided giving himself even the opportunity to consider that something like this would happen.  It was the only way to be sure he could keep his distance, could adhere to the conditions he’d set for himself when he first encountered her.  To pull away now, to say no to her after feeling her beneath his hands, was a pain he couldn’t describe, and the weight of it was evident in his eyes.  “I’m...so sorry,” he whispered, barely audible, as he let his hands fall away from her arms and took another step back.

 

Something like disbelief began to sweep across her eyes, clearing the haze, and he could only hold up a hand as she started toward him.  He swallowed hard, still retreating as he smoothed his hands over his head, knitting his fingers behind his neck.  “I shouldn’t have,” he barely managed to utter.  Shouldn’t have what?  Gotten attached to the idea of her?  Gotten so wrapped up that the need to see her was like an invisible tether that pulled him inexorably back just to watch her night after night?  Indulged when she played him just to get him alone?  Pretended that driving her home and coming upstairs would end any other way?   _ Fuck, Solas.  You know better. _

 

Still unbuttoned, his pants hung awkwardly on his hips, but he’d forgotten entirely.  All he could see was the look in her eyes, the pain he’d caused.  “I’m sorry,” he said again, and he had to turn away from her.  If he was going to go, he had to go now.  He had to go now before he lost the few shattered remains of the will he’d scarcely managed to recover.  He’d only taken a handful of steps toward the door when a glass slammed into the wall beside his head, shattering as he flinched away from the shards.  A sharp pain on his cheek made him wince, and in the same moment, her voice rang out, possessed with a fury that took him aback.  “Don’t you  **_dare_ ** walk out that door.”

 

As he turned to face her, her open hand struck him so hard and so unexpectedly that the force turned his head until his chin nearly rested on his shoulder.  He tasted blood, and his tongue probed the corner of his mouth as he slowly drew his gaze down on her.  He found her, chest heaving, red-faced, with tears just beginning to glisten in her eyes. He said only one word:  “Don’t.”  Her hands clenched into fists at her sides.  “This isn’t just about you, Solas!  It’s not just about what  _ you _ need,” she seethed.  As they stared at each other, a trickle of blood rolled down his cheek from a nick carved by a shard from the glass she’d thrown.  He let it go, and it eventually dripped from his jaw to disappear on the black of his shirt.  

 

A tremor shook him at his core, and where there’d been heat before in his eyes, now there was fire.  She took another swing, but he blocked the blow with his forearm, deflecting her harmlessly aside.  “Don’t,” he repeated, quietly, but it only seemed to stoke her anger.  “Why is it so easy for you?” she asked, her voice cracking on the words.  It was almost like a plea.  “You just walk away...just like that!” her voice trembled.  ‘Why?  Why am I so...easy to turn away?”  In her eyes, he saw her anger for what it really was.  Hurt.  Anger is a shield hurt often uses.  She took another swipe, this time with a closed fist, but it was half-hearted, and he dodged.  As her wasted momentum set her off-balance, he used it to his advantage -- he snatched ahold of her wrist and twisted her arm up behind her.  She yelped and tried to reach behind with her free hand, fingers bent toward his face.  

 

“I said don’t,” he intoned as he craned his head back, stretching out of her reach.  No one should ever take this woman’s smaller stature as an indication of her lack of strength.   Every bit of her was lean muscle, and he struggled to rein her in as she fought against him.  Even as he caught her grasping hand and twisted it behind her, she bucked against his hold.  He’d be lying if he said the grapple hadn’t fanned the arousal he’d been trying to quell by leaving.  He was beginning to wonder if she realized, when she suddenly and forcefully jerked at her arms.  He tugged one hand just a little higher behind her back to weaken her fight and leaned her roughly into the bar, pinning her body with his own.  He felt her breath leave her in a rush, and she gasped quietly.

 

“Stop, Niyera,” he said, “you’re going to hurt yourself if you keep this up.”  The strain in her shoulders had to be painful by this point, but she seemed determined not to give in.  Even with the breath knocked out of her, she squirmed beneath him, but his grip was firm.  “Please.  Just stop,” he said, his voice dropping a notch as he continued, “I don’t want to hurt you.”  His confession seemed to take some of the fire from her fight, and she pressed her forehead into the countertop.  He could hear her breath, saw the movement of her hair as it stirred against her cheeks, and watched the steady rise and fall of her back.  Heat welled in the pit of his stomach, reaching painfully into his chest and lower.  She had never stilled even as he held her down, and the constant grind of her ass against him was becoming difficult to ignore.  

 

“Are you done?” he asked, changing up his grip on her wrists to one hand as her struggling had lessened to a manageable level.  His answer was the non-verbal roll of her hips as she stretched to grind her ass against him.  His free hand fell to her hip as he closed his lips over the groan that threatened to crawl out of his throat.  He’d never had a chance to let his lust dissipate before she hit him, and he couldn’t deny that it made the fire in him burn a little hotter still.  When he thought he could speak without his voice faltering, he leaned forward just a bit to ask, “ _ What _ are you doing?”  His voice was low, throaty and dark, when he spoke. 

 

She pumped her ass against him again, and he gripped her waist and tightened his hold on her wrists as she struggled fitfully.  His breath left him in a ragged sigh as she turned to her head to rest her cheek on the countertop.  When she caught his gaze, she spoke, the effort to keep her voice even apparent, “I’m  _ trying _ to get you to  _ fuck _ me.”  The words rattled through him, and she’d have felt the pulse they sent through his cock as he pressed into the back of her thigh.  He hovered over her, his eyes following the curve of her back to the nape of her neck.  Nimble fingers plucked the clip from her hair, and it clattered on the floor as he discarded it.  Gently, he tucked a few locks behind her ear and pulled the rest over her shoulder so that he could look at her.  “I’m sorry?” he questioned, bracing his free hand on the edge of the counter as he leaned into her.

 

He saw the flutter of her eyes and felt her breath catch as she nudged up and into him insistently.  “ _ Fuck me, _ Solas,” she paused, expending some effort to draw in a breath before continuing.  “I’m not made of glass.  I won’t break,” her words trailed off as she drew in her stomach, bearing into the edge of the counter just for the extra ounce of leverage it gave her to buck against him.  His eyes rolled back as a groan escaped his throat, and whatever composure he had been clinging to was lost entirely.  

 

Roughly, he jammed a knee between her legs and kicked her booted feet further apart until she was prostrate beneath him.  He’d taken every bit of leverage she’d had.  Unbuttoned as his pants were, it was a simple matter to manipulate the zipper and push them down around his hips.  When he leaned into her this time, his length settled in the crevice of her ass, pressed between them as he reached around to slip his fingers beneath her panties.  She was wet, so wet, and flush with arousal as he stroked a finger against her clit.  

 

The shiver that shook her body wrang a trembling moan from her lips as she tensed beneath him.  “Ask me again,” he breathed against her back, the heat of his words sinking through her sweater to burn hot on her skin.  His fingertip drew circles around her aching clit, and she writhed beneath him, unable to keep herself from thrusting against his hand.  It was all she  _ could _ do.  “ _ Fuck me _ ,” she sighed out her plea, the weak tug on her arms only offered to provoke him to tighten his grip.  He obliged, pulling her hard enough to bow her back as he slid a finger inside her.  It was enough to pull a cry of pleasure from her lips, and he promptly withdrew it.  She mewled piteously as her hips rolled forward in search of his touch.  But, his hand was no longer there.

 

He drug his fingers up the back of her thigh, her wetness slick on her skin as his fingers found their way between her legs again from behind.  He pressed against the fabric of her panties in a pulsing rhythm, against her opening, teasing a series of moans from her.  “Again,” he commanded as he hooked his fingers in the thin fabric and yanked, hard, and she cried out as it bit into her skin.  She both heard and felt the seam on her hip tear apart, and she shuttered with need as she felt the fabric fall to tickle the inside of her knee.  “ _ Pleease _ ,” she whimpered, pressing her forehead against the counter again as she writhed beneath him, with only the press of his weight against her keeping her upright at this point.  

 

“ _ Fuck me, Solas.  Please, fuck me _ ,” she begged now, repeating the words as whispers, like a mantra, a prayer.  She was still pleading with him when he drew away only seconds before driving his hips up and into her, burying every inch of himself within her with no preamble or warning.  Not exactly a scream or a moan, the guttural sound that tore from her lips was echoed by his own.  Sparks of light danced across his vision and his knees grew weak for a moment at the feel of her -- so wet and warm, his sudden entrance giving her body no choice but to grow to accommodate him and bind him in a snug sheath.  

 

He threaded his fingers into her hair, and for a long, agonizing moment, he didn’t move.  He just enjoyed the sensation as if loath to give it up.  It was only when he felt her struggling beneath him, trying to rise onto her toes to fuck herself on his length, that he started to move.  The first rotation of his hips pulled him out all but the head, and he perched there, enjoying the sounds she made as she labored to rise onto him again.  A twist of his hand in her hair coincided with his plunge back into her depths, and the moan that left her was exquisite.  

 

Every time he thrust into her, he wound his hand tighter into her hair until he had her bent at such an angle that her moans had to claw out of her throat.  By the time he’d settled into a brisk rhythm, she was hoarse and helpless to do anything but gasp as he rode her.  Against his stomach, he could feel her fingers curling and flexing where they were pinned between them, and the scratch of her nails on his skin sent shards of electricity straight to his cock.  He bit down on a moan as he quickened his pace, pounding mercilessly into her as he clutched a fistful of her hair.  

 

Around him, he felt her body tighten, and her fingers knotted stiffly as she found her voice again, crying out as she was swept up in the throes of her orgasm.  A firm yank on her hair squeezed off the sound, leaving her to only pant breathlessly she came.  With a furious pace, every thrust brought him closer to his own release, and when he felt the clutch of his climax, his moans turned into growls.  His fingers loosened their hold on her hair only to crawl along her scalp, gripping and pulling her head back at the roots as he fell deeper and slower within her.  Their moans were echoes of each other when he grew rigid inside her and filled her, every pump of his hips growing slower until he was spent.  

 

He was breathless when he freed her arms, his legs trembling as he relaxed his fingers in her hair and slowly pulled out of her.  A small, breathless sound fell from her lips at the sensation, and when she slowly eased her weight from the counter and onto her own two feet again, her knees buckled.  Already unsteady himself, when he caught her, they both collapsed.  The hardwood floor received him unforgivingly as his shoulder blades bore the brunt of their weight as he held her snugly against his chest to break her fall.  A series of quiet chuckles slipped from his lips between every heavy breath he took, and he swept her hair back in his hands until he could finally see her face.

 

He wasn’t sure what he expected, but he found her pale skin blushed rose, her lips bent in an easy, but tired smile, and her eyes keenly locked on his.  She was, quite simply, radiant.  He massaged his fingers into her scalp, and she sighed as she tilted her head back into his touch.  It was only now that his lust was slaked that he realized just how rough he been.  With his fingers still tangled in her hair, he brushed a thumb against her cheek to pull her attention back to him.  

 

Concern creased his brow as he stared up at her, and he hesitantly ventured, “I...didn’t hur-,” before she cut him off.  “No,” she answered with a shake of her head.  “Not glass, remember?” she smiled briefly, but then her eyes fell to the cut on his cheek.  She brushed it with a fingertip, and he winced before she repentantly set her eyes on his.  “Solas...I’m so sorry.  I-,” she broke off, never getting the opportunity to finish as he tugged her down to press her lips to his.  They were both done apologizing and fighting.

 

At least for tonight.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sexy time in the shower. Bow-chicka-wow-wow.
> 
> Okay. Sorry. I'll go now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More shameless smut.

The sound of her phone vibrating on the nightstand rudely pulled Niyera from sleep, but thankfully, it stopped before she was forced to move.  She shifted, languidly stretching out her legs as she rolled onto her back beneath the covers.  The movement made her acutely aware that her bed was empty, and for a moment, her heart sank.  But, as she lay silently, she heard movement, then the rush of water in the shower.  She smiled to herself, but the moment was broken when the phone started buzzing again.  She grumbled as she rolled toward the sound and snaked a hand from beneath the covers to retrieve the phone and pull it back under with her.  One look at the screen made her lips twist as she answered, “Don't you have any  _ other  _ fucking friends you could annoy?”  Dorian snorted his contempt as he answered in return, “None that were aiming to seduce a criminally dangerous man, no.   _ You _ didn't answer  _ any _ of your texts last night.”  She hummed as she settled back into the pillows, the covers still pulled over her head, “I was otherwise engaged.”  His tone of voice turned incredulous, “ **All** night?”  She murmured only a soft  _ Mmmhmm _ and then laughed at the scandalized noise Dorian made.  “I expect details.  I'm coming over with breakfast.”  A chuckle fell past her lips as she began to tug the covers down, “Better bring extra.”   _ Kaffas!  _ she heard him swear.  “And don't be in a rush, Dorian, eh?  Take your time.”  He was still laughing when she hung up the phone. 

 

She emerged from the tangle of the covers naked and completely disheveled and padded into the bathroom on bare feet.  Standing in front of the mirror, which was just beginning to be hazed with steam, she found small red marks trailed along her neck and shoulders.  She clucked her tongue, but still smiled as she inwardly lamented how much makeup it was going to take to conceal those.  When she turned, she propped back against the counter top, lazily admiring the lines of Solas’s body, indistinct though they were behind the rippled glass of the shower doors.  “Glad to see you’ve made yourself at home,” she said, loud enough to be heard over the water.  There was a hint of surprise in his voice when he answered, as if she’d startled him, “Good morning.  I hope you don't mind.”  She could only chuckle as she leaned away from the counter and stalked toward the shower, “How could I possibly mind having a naked man in my shower?”  Sliding the door open, she slipped in behind him, and he turned, pulling her into his arms.  The water hitting his back misted over his shoulders, beading in her hair and on her eyelashes as he dipped his head to kiss her.  

 

His lips were warmer than usual, and the firm press of his body to hers sent a tiny thrill through her from head to toe.  Slowly, he pulled out of the kiss, his lips bent subtly as his eyes fell across her skin.  “Oh... _ oh _ ,” he murmured as he brushed a fingertip against the marks he’d left on her shoulder and neck.  “Mmhm,” she answered in return, turning him in the shower until she was standing under water.  Tipping her head back, she ran her hands through her hair, then felt the weight of his lips on her neck.  “I’m so sorry about these,” he said before placing a kiss on the next mark down until he’d worked his way across her shoulder.  “It’s nothing I can’t cover up,” she said as she straightened, smoothing her hair back from her face before resting her hands on his shoulders.  “All the same, I should have been more mindful,” he started, but drew into silence as she cupped his face in her hands.  “You didn’t hear me complain, did you?”  Solas only shook his head with a faint grin.  “Then hush,” and with that, she leaned onto her toes to peck his lips before changing places with him again.  He already knew it would do him no good to argue, so he didn’t, instead leaning forward to let the water fall on the crown of his head.  

 

“Do you have anything in here that  _ doesn’t _ smell like some manner of fruit or flower?” he asked as she draped herself against his back and wrapped her arms around him.  “I’m afraid not.  You should go with the fruit, though,” she offered as her lips strew kisses along his shoulder blade and her hands skimmed along his torso to settle on his chest.  She relished the shiver that ran through him as well as the hesitation in his voice when he asked, “Why’s that?”  Brushing her nose between his shoulders, she began, “Well,” then paused to trace the tip of her tongue up his spine, “You already taste good enough to eat.  You might as well smell like it, too.”  The breath he took made his chest swell, and he dropped a hand to reach back and grip her thigh.  As her hands ranged over his chest, she pressed her cheek against his back, and slowly, one hand began to smooth down the midline of his body.  A rumble in his chest vibrated through him and into her when her hand fell below his navel, taut skin taken with the slightest shiver at her touch.  The constant rush of water eased her passage as her fingers crept over his hipbone and into the hollow below, her nails coasting in a light drag over the sensitive skin.  She more felt his sharp inhalation than heard it, the breathy sound lost in the pounding of the water on his chest.  However, when her hand fell lower to hook her thumb against the base of his shaft, while her fingers gathered up his sac and massaged, his groan was unmistakable.

  
  


He planted both hands against the wall to either side of the shower head, bowing the tight line of his body against her as she clung to him.  “I'm glad you stayed,” she said as she gently rolled his sac in her hand, tugging lightly as she scraped her teeth against the back of his shoulder.  In her hand, his cock jumped, and she folded her fingers around the shaft for a firm tug.  His head tilted back, the spray of water hitting at the base of his throat as he spoke, “So am I.”  Her laugh was a light, lilting sound as she drug her hands up across his ribs again and urged him to turn.  He immediately pulled her body flush against his and captured her mouth.  The kiss was instantly deep and consuming, a fire she felt as his tongue brushed hers and in his fingertips as he fit one hand on her breast, kneading, and the other to the curve of her hip.  A quiet moan escaped her, and he devoured it, the stiff press of his length trapped between them.  He held her firm, grinding into her hip as she clung to his shoulders.  It would be easy enough to lose herself in this:  the weight of his kiss, the needful lift of his hips into her.  But, she wasn’t done with him yet  She began to lean back, but instead of releasing her, he chased her mouth as if reluctant to let her go.

 

Pressing both palms into his chest, she gazed up at him, lips parted and plumped from the kiss, and the depth of his breaths caused his broad chest to swell.  Dragging a thumb against his bottom lip, she offered him a devious smile and sank to her knees beneath his ravenous stare.  Her hands trailed the length of his body as she went, willowy fingers dancing over his stomach and along his hips as she settled on her knees.  With her hands ghosting over the backs of his thighs, she leaned in and drew the tip of her tongue along the underside of his shaft, lapping away the water that ran there from his torso.  The groan that left him rooted his hand to the upper edge of the shower door, while the other pushed her damp locks back from her brow so he could see her face.  She was gazing up at him when she wrapped her lips around his head and swirled her tongue around it in a languid circuit.  His eyes fluttered briefly, and a low rumble reverberated through his body as she teased the slit before sinking down on him one inch at a time.  Her fingers slid up and down the backs of his thighs as she rose and fell on this length, tongue circling on the draw back and flattening to the underside on the way back down.  His heavy breaths became rough with moans as she worked him with her lips and tongue, and her hands gradually coasted upward.  

 

A tremble ran through his legs as her fingers slipped across the curve of his ass to suddenly grip and pull him into her.  He hit the back of her throat and couldn’t help but grind into it, though a subtle tilt of her head sheathed his cock fully in her mouth until she was nuzzling against his skin.  A tremor raked along his spine, and he growled as she drew away to take a breath, then sank on him fully again.  She held him close with one hand as the other withdrew to scrape nails up the inside of his thigh until she could cradle his sac.  His hand had such a grip on the top of the shower door that his knuckles were white, and every breath that left him was hoarse with desire.  He’d fantasized about this, watching her bob up and down on his cock, and seeing himself now disappear past her lips clenched a fist deep in his body and pulled moans from his lips.  It was as lovely as he’d imagined.  Her viridian eyes panned up to him, cheeks hollowed with her effort, and a building tightness clutched at him.  The hand that had merely been resting on her head gripped her hair, holding her in place as he pumped his hips, thrusting roughly into her mouth.  

 

When she moaned, the vibration shuddered down his length and into his body, a sensation that sent sparks up his spine and across his scalp.  The sound that left him was neither a moan nor a growl, but something in between that originated deep in his chest as everything lower began to seize.  He abandoned his hold on the shower door to cradle her head in both hands, and every time she sank down on him, his thrusts rose to meet her.  It took effort to speak past the heartbeat that had risen in his throat, and he all but panted out her name.  “I’m close, Ny,” he cautioned, but when her nails bit into his buttock with the tightening of her grip on him and her voiced hummed around him, she pushed him over the edge.  His cry echoed off the bathroom walls as he lost himself in her, hips driving his length erratically past her lips.  The pressure of her hands on his hips slowed him, allowing her to take him deep as he came, and the feel of the muscles in her throat working to swallow around him made him lightheaded.  

 

A litany of praises tumbled from his lips with the last few reflexive thrusts of his climax, and his fingers unclenched from her hair.  His breath trembled past his lips as she took one long, final pull on him before she released him and sat back on her heels.  His eyes were unfocused, and he was still breathing hard when he helped her to her feet with a firm grip on her upper arms.  They stood silent, pressed close, as he gazed down at her.  The look on her face was one of satisfaction, and when she casually licked her lips, the smile he’d almost suppressed turned into a huff of chuckle that he tried to hide as he bent to rest his forehead on her shoulder.  Her hands rose to the back of his head, and he could feel her grin against the skin of his shoulder as he spoke beneath her ear, “What am I going to do with you?”  She laughed, a sound that filled him warmth, and she nipped lightly at his neck.  “I don’t know, but I can’t wait to find out.”


End file.
